Dempsey and Makepeace 4:6, Mean Streak
by xLaramiex
Summary: With the death of Harry's father and threats to an old man, Dempsey and Makepeace have plenty to deal with. Will it draw them closer or push them away from each other?
1. Lord Winfield

_I got really stuck for ideas for the rest of the series, so instead of continuing with the series as normal, I'm going to break with tradition and end with a bumper-length 13-part special episode. Most of the parts are pretty short… There might be a few more scattered episodes after that but with my A-levels I don't want to be bogged down with writing obligations as well as everything else. Plus, I've suddenly solved a problem in the planning of my original novel that's been bugging me for MONTHS so that's now going "ASDFGBHJB WRITE MEEEE!"_

-:-:-

Dempsey waited a total of ten hours after Harry had left before ringing her. He had intended to wait until the next day, but he missed her, he worried about her, and he wanted to know what had happened when she had met Jack. Out of friendly curiosity, of course.

When the phone was picked up, it was a upper-class male voice that said: "Good evening, the Winfield residence."

"Hello, is Harry there? I wanna speak to her."

"Lady Makepeace is currently indisposed. May I ask who is calling, sir?" asked the clipped voice.

"James Dempsey; can I talk to her?"

"Lady Makepeace did say that she should be contacted if Mr Dempsey called" - James fought a smile: there was no 'if' about it - "so if you would mind waiting a few moments I shall tell her you have called."

"Thanks," Dempsey said impatiently. He tapped a foot nervously as he listened to the silence on the other end of the phone. At last, he heard a rustle and then Harry spoke.

"Hello, James," she said, sounding a little shy.

"Hiya, Princess," he responded, his voice softening. He could not resist a gentle tease, all the same. "So apparently you're indisposed but you should be contacted if Mr Dempsey calls."

He could practically see the faint flush creeping into her cheeks, the way her eyes would drop downwards as they always did when she was embarrassed. "You're the only one who wouldn't spout asinine condolences at me," she said as though she was trying to excuse herself.

"Well, damn, I'll have to think of somethin' else to talk about now," he protested, and was rewarded with a weak chuckle. "How are things?" he asked more seriously, leaving the question open for her to interpret as she wished.

"The funeral is going to be in three days; this Saturday. Freddie never wanted a big funeral, so it seems silly to wait too long."

James heard her sniff, and waited for her to collect herself.

"Will you come?" she asked tearfully.

"Sure," he agreed immediately. "What time should I get there?"

"It starts at eleven. I…I suppose you could get here earlier…if you want."

Hearing what she really meant - '_Please come earlier. I don't want to be on my own.,' _- Dempsey suggested:"How 'bout I drive over the night before?"

"Thank you."

"What are best friends for?" he asked with a smile.

"Answering your phone at nine-thirty in the morning?"

"Hey, you can't tell me off for that, I was tryin'a stop it wakin' -" he broke off as he realised that she was laughing at him. "So how did things go with Jack last night?"

"We broke up," Harry said, and Dempsey's face spontaneously broke into a smile.

"Yeah?" he replied, trying to inject a note of sympathy into his voice. "How come?"

"We, ah, we wanted different things."

James sensed that she was not telling him the whole truth. "Oh, right. Sorry to hear it," he lied, still unable to remove the smile from his face.

"Are you?"

"Yeah," he insisted, knowing he sounded too defensive but unable to do anything about it.

An awkward silence overwhelmed them both, stripping their words from their mouths before they could speak.

"I miss you," James said abruptly, ashamed of the words as soon as they left his mouth. She'd only left _that morning_ for God's sake.

The pause before Harry spoke made him nervous, but her words reassured him. "I miss you too."


	2. Freddie

Harry spent most of the following two days drifting through the house. It seemed too large, too empty, to be the home in which she grew up. The staff were subdued, moving about the house like ghosts. They had all loved Harry's father and were fond of Harry; they spoke to her in soft tones as though too loud a voice would shatter her. On the second afternoon she wandered into the kitchen, too restless to sit still, and found the cook - Mrs Sutton - hunched over the kitchen table and dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

She started when Harry entered the room. "Oh! Miss Harriet, don't mind me. Were you wanting something?"

"I just came to get some cocoa," Harry replied.

"You sit there, Miss Harriet, and I'll make you some." She laid a hand briefly on Harry's shoulder as she turned. "Just like when you were young, eh chicken?"

Harry smiled as she realised the reason for her seeking out the drink as comfort; any time she had been upset as a child, Mrs S had sat her down at the stocky oak kitchen table with a cup of cocoa. When she was very young, she usually forgot her problem by the end of the drink, and would run off to play cheerfully. "Thank you," she said quietly.

This was a grievance that would take more than a cup of cocoa to recover from.

-:-

On Friday evening, Harry sat in the window of her old bedroom looking over the front of the house. At eight-thirty, in the gathering dark, she heard the familiar sound of James' car and saw it pull up outside with a spray of dark gravel. She watched as he was escorted out of his car and taken inside. She went downstairs to meet him in the hall.

"Mr Dempsey, Lady Makepeace."

"Hiya, Harry."

Harry smiled for the first time in three days; it was weak, but it was there. "Hello, James. Thank you for coming."

"Hey, what's all the formality? How 'bout a hug?"

Harry hugged him tightly. "Do you want anything to drink or eat?"

"Nothin', thanks. Are you alright?"

"I'm…managing. The staff are very upset."

"I suppose all this is yours now, huh?"

Harry blinked at him, surprised. That had barely crossed her mind. She looked around her at the familiar hall, rendered alien by the revelation. "I suppose it is…" she said faintly. "I haven't heard his will yet." She stared into space for a few moments, shocked.

"C'mon, Princess, why don't you have a sit down?" Dempsey wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and walked with her into the living room.

Harry lay back onto a sofa and laid her head against the armrest. The cold spectre that had hung over her ever since she had heard of her father's death had gripped her heart again, draining her of her energy. The thought of an inheritance somehow made everything seem much more real.

She became conscious of James kneeling beside her. He took her hand and kissed her fingers, touched his lips to the veined skin on the inside of her wrist, to the inside of her elbow, to her shoulder; as Harry turned her head he continued the line of kisses by brushing his lips against hers. When she turned away again he sat back on his feet so that he had to look up at her.

"I wish I could make it all better for you, Princess," he murmured sadly, caressing her fingers as he spoke.

Harry found she couldn't reply how she really wanted to: _'Just be here.'_

-:-

Harry was quite sure she would never have got through the funeral without him. She clutched his hand tightly throughout the service. In church, he sat by her side. After the service, when all Freddie's close friends and relatives were milling around the front room with drinks, talking in low voices about memories and regrets and later shopping lists and schedules, Harry went back outside to the family graveyard where her father was now buried.

The graveyard was in perfect condition; the gardener cut back the weeds and kept the grass at a manageable level and occasionally cut back the big yew trees which surrounded the area on all sides. Time had ravaged the scattered graves, which were crooked and moss-covered; several no longer bore any inscription to show who had been lain there.

"Oh, _daddy._" The words came out on the crest of a sigh as Harry sank down to kneel at the side of the grave, the soil like a scar in the flesh of the earth. Harry laid a hand very gently on the bare ground and the sunlight warmed the backs of her fingers. "I hope that was alright for you. I did what I thought you wanted." She sat in silence for a time, reliving the funeral. "You would have been proud of Dempsey, I think. He looked after me." She frowned, uncertain. "I love him. I don't know if that's as a friend or as anything else, I just love him."

Eventually, she said, "I'm sorry, daddy. I went on holiday with James instead of coming to see you and now you've gone."

She sat outside with her father until late afternoon, when Dempsey came to find her. He took her hand and led her inside without a word.


	3. America

When Dempsey arrived home on Sunday around midday, a lad he had seen several times before with his friend was sitting on the curb a few doors down, smoking.

"Alright Pete, how you doin' today?"

Pete was pretty unremarkable, with the build of a large bear and medium brown hair cut in a fairly long style. He was a little shy, seventeen, and went to the local secondary school. Dempsey knew very little more about him. "Not great. You know Lee, I used to smoke with? Gone to America, ent 'e."

"Where 'bouts?"

"New York. Gone to live wiv some family over there, few weeks back. 'S for 'is dad's job." Pete ground the cigarette into the pavement.

"Sorry to hear it."

The boy scoffed. "You ent bothered. You 'ardly know either of us."

Dempsey felt, quite justifiably, as though he had just had his sympathy thrown right back in his face.

"You think we're just some stupid kids, no good for anything 'cause we're just too young," Pete went on.

"Hey, calm down, Pete, I ain't said anythin' like that. My heart bleeds for you, honestly."

They met each others' eyes for a long moment, then Pete snorted with laughter. "Bloody sarcastic," he accused him mildly, lighting up another cigarette. Dempsey sat on the curb next to him and lit a cigar. "What's America like?"

"For Lee, he probably won't notice the difference. Just people talk with a different accent and look at him blankly when he uses slang. Think about it, the opportunity to insult people without them even knowing. He'll have a ball. He'll probably come back an' call you wacko."

"D'you miss being there?"

"I used to, all the time. Away from my family, my home. Now…I guess I'm gettin' used to it. I've made some great friends here."

"We're gonna write to each other but it takes ages and it's expensive."

_I could never be happy with just writin' to Harry,_ James thought.

Dempsey clapped Pete on the back. "You'll get over it, kid," he assured him, getting to his feet. "See you around."

"Yeah, see ya," Pete returned gloomily.

Dempsey made his way back to his own building, his thoughts firmly on the other side of the Atlantic.


	4. Guy Grey

_Whenever I write "Watson" I immediately think of Sherlock Holmes!_

_-:-:-_

A few weeks after the funeral of Harry's father, the SI10 team received a message. It was already 5 o'clock when it was given to them by a junior officer who'd been sent over from the normal police on his way home. SI10 had been about to go home for the night as well, but they crowded around the note obediently at Spikings' glare.

"_Someone is going to try to bomb Aaron Grey at home on the evening of 5/11. He needs protecting."_

"Why are we bein' warned about somethin' that won't happen 'til May?"

Harry shot James a withering look. "_November,_ James. It's the other way around."

"Oh yeah…so that's tonight? Guy Fawkes Night, huh."

"And he's a politician," Watson put in.

"Is he? Somebody's idea of a joke, I guess," Dempsey said.

"There's not much warning considering it's happening this evening," Harry observed. "What else do you know about this Aaron Grey, Watson?"

"I don't know anything about him, I just remember his name."

"How are we supposed to protect a man when we don't know who he is or where he lives?" demanded James, sounding frustrated.

Harry had typed the name into the computer, and now read off the screen: "Aaron Grey, born 1910. Parents: Adam and Margaret. Series of government positions but most well known for his support of a bill for protecting foxes, which failed. Currently living here in London." She wrote down the address.

"So, who's drawing the short straw?" James asked, deliberately brushing her fingers when he took the paper off her to look at the address.

"You and Makepeace are," came Spikings' voice. "The others have all got cases so it's down to you two to check up on him and get him out of his house for the night."

Dempsey pulled a face.

-:-

Aaron Grey took several minutes to answer the door to Dempsey and Makepeace. He had slightly hunched shoulders and he squinted up at them through thick glasses. "Yes?"

"Hello, Mr Grey, we're from the police. I'm Sergeant Makepeace and this is Lieutenant Dempsey. May we come in?"

Aaron shuffled backwards to let them in. "The police, you say?" he said in a quavery voice. "Am I in trouble?"

"We're just lookin' out for you, we heard somebody might have somethin' against you," Dempsey explained as they were shown into the living room, which featured brown wallpaper, two old, squashed sofas, and a very small black-and-white TV on a squat wooden cupboard.

"Tea?" the old man asked.

"No, that's fine, we just wanted to ask if you know of anyone who has a grudge against you," said Dempsey.

"No, no, nobody."

"Well I'm afraid we received a warning this evening that you might be in danger tonight, so we would to advise you to spend the night out of your house. Do you have any relatives you could stay with?"

Aaron watched Harry as she spoke, but as she finished he glanced over at Dempsey then back at her. "Who are you?" he asked mildly.

"James Dempsey, Harriet Makepeace, we're from the police."

"Oh…am I in trouble?"

"We think you might be, so do you have any relatives you could stay with?" Dempsey asked.

"Have you found yourself a girl yet, my lad?"

Dempsey's eyes immediately flickered towards Harry. "What?" he said to Aaron.

"Nothing to be ashamed of, my son, I was twenty-two when I met your mother."

Dempsey shot a confused look at Harry, who crossed the small room to kneel in front of the old man. "Aaron, we're from the police," she said clearly, "and we've been warned that someone is going to try to hurt you tonight. You need to get out of the house and go somewhere safe."

"No, no, I can't leave the house, I'm waiting for my wife, you see."

Harry looked at Dempsey and shook her head. _She's dead,_ she mouthed. "Why don't you wait for her at your son's house?" she said encouragingly.

"But she's coming here. I'm not leaving until I see her." At this last sentence, a certain amount of steel entered the weak voice. "Tea?" Aaron asked as he pushed himself to his feet and wandered absently out of the room.

"We're never going to get him out, are we?" Harry said.

"Not without seriously upsetting him, no," Dempsey agreed, moving to stand behind her. He put an arm around Harry waist; it was very distracting.

"I suppose we'd better stay here overnight…We can't just leave him, can we?" she said. "I'll go and try to explain it to him. He'll probably forget straight away, but…" She left the room and followed the muffled sounds of movement into the hall and through into the old-fashioned kitchen. Aaron was making a cup of tea.

"Oh, there you are, Maria. There are people in the house, you know, dear."

"Yes, I know, Aaron. They're going to stay tonight to look after you."

"Jolly nice, I'm sure. Do you think they want a cup of tea?"

"No, that's fine, you just carry on as normal," she said soothingly, before returning to the living room. "He thought I was his wife," she told Dempsey, who was examining a small porcelain figure on top of the TV set.

"He sounds like my granddad. He got real confused towards the end. He used to call me Jack."

-:-

Much later that evening, James and Harry were ensconced on the sofa. They half-sat, half-lay with their backs against opposite armrests, with their legs bent and leaning against the back of the sofa. They were talking quietly, often having to stifle their laughter.

"What did your teacher say?" Harry said as Dempsey recounted the time he and his friends had smuggled a rat into his teacher's briefcase.

"He was pretty freaked out! He starts yellin' and shoutin' that he's gonna kill whoever put it in there and then the rat comes outta the briefcase an' he leaps up, I'm talkin' like gazelle, here, he leaps up onto his desk and says we've all got detention unless we catch that rat that very second!"

"So what did you do?" Harry managed through her laughter.

"What d'you think we did? We sat and laughed at him, it was damn funny!"

Harry was sent into another fit of giggles. As their amusement subsided, they found themselves just sitting smiling at each other.

-:-:-

_Aaron is very loosely inspired by a real-life politician, though most of the details have been altered and this is not a comment on the man himself._

_PS I feel so bad for taking so long to review everyone's stories, especially when you're all being so quick to review mine! I'm really sorry and I'll try to get reviewing as soon as I can :)_


	5. Remember, Remember

"Drink?" James suggested.

"Mm.. Cup of tea, please," Harry replied.

"C'mon then, I ain't doin' it while you're sat there all nice and comfortable," he protested, pulling Harry up after him.

They walked into the kitchen together, arguing in a light-hearted way, and Harry picked the kettle up while Dempsey opened a bottom cupboard. When he saw what was inside, he froze.

"Uh, Harry? I think we got a problem."

Harry crouched down next to him. "I'd have to agree with you there," she said as she saw what he was looking at.

"Right, you get Aaron outta the house, I'll see if I can disarm it," Dempsey said.

"Be careful," Harry told him before rushing out of the room.

"Who the hell tries to blow up an ex-politician?" Dempsey muttered to himself as he very carefully took the lid off the shoebox, listening to the ticking.

The inside of the shoebox was a mass of black wires, and Dempsey waited until Harry had persuaded Aaron outside before very carefully pulling the bomb apart. It wasn't organised enough to agonise over red-wire-or-blue-wire, so he just concentrated on breaking all the connections he could find, hoping it wasn't about to blow up in his face.

"Life is hard, and then you die," he recited to himself under his breath.

When he was left with a handful of black wires, he finally allowed himself to breathe again. He straightened up and went outside to check on Harry and Aaron, still thoughtlessly clutching the wires.

Harry had an arm around Aaron's waist, who looked a little dazed. When she heard Dempsey approach, Harry looked up. "Did you do it?" she asked immediately.

"Yeah," Dempsey responded, putting a hand on her arm.

"I called the police," Harry said, and sure enough, within a few minutes bomb disposal turned up, followed shortly by a squad car. The police officer took care of Aaron and promised to keep Harry and Dempsey informed.

"Whaddaya say, Harry? Back to my place?" Before she could respond he added, "I got a Chinese take out menu that's got our names all over it."

Harry smiled. "Sounds good to me."

-:-

They sat at the table to eat their Chinese, unusually formal for them.

"So, where were we?"

"I believe you had just finished telling me the story of the rat in your teacher's briefcase," Harry responded.

"Oh, yeah. And then we got distracted by being almost blown up. I told you coffee was better."

"How does almost being blown up have anything to do with coffee?"

Dempsey paused, scrunching his lips together as he savoured the moment. "The tea was in the other cupboard. If we hadn't had coffee, we'd've been blown up," he pointed out smugly.

"You can't blame tea for that!" Harry protested.

"Really? I think you'll find I just did."

They locked eyes, each recognising the challenge in the other's gaze. Dempsey grinned first, and continued shovelling Chinese into his mouth. "So what's your funniest memory, Princess?"

"I'm not sure you could handle it, Lieutenant," she replied playfully.

He leaned forwards slightly for effect, pointing at her with his fork. "I can handle anything."

"It was probably at my fourteenth birthday party," Harry said reminiscently. "One of my friends was eating a piece of my very lovely birthday cake - it had all these different sweets and chocolates on top - and suddenly she started coughing, so someone hit her on the back and this yellow Smartie came shooting out of her mouth and landed on the grass. And about 5 seconds later this duck came along and ate it."

Dempsey snorted, but wasn't all that amused.

"Well…it was funny at the time," Harry added, just as the phone rang.

Dempsey answered it, and spoke briefly to the police officer.

"He says whoever planted the bomb came in through the back door," he told Harry when he had put the phone down.

"Yes, I suppose that's likely," she replied.

"No, that's definite, they found graffiti on the back door that says 'D A', paint is barely dry. But never mind that, the normal police have taken over that, we don't have to bother with it."

"I suppose you're right. It really is an odd case, isn't it?" She twirled her noodles contemplatively. "So, what about you, any funny birthday party stories?"

"Nah, I don't really go in for birthday celebrations. Not since I was about twenty, anyway."

"Why not?"

"Dunno…Guess there was never really anyone I wanted to invite."

"But, you must have had friends, back in New York?"

"People to have a drink with, people I worked with," Dempsey replied dismissively. "No one I was really close to. No one I'd just…ask over for a take out, or something."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Dempsey saw Harry look up, seeming surprised, but he concentrated on winding a noodle around his fork and refused to meet her eyes.

"What about this year?" she said, as though she was afraid of a dismissive answer. "It's only in a couple of weeks, isn't it?"

Dempsey didn't say anything for a long time, trying to psych himself up to what he was going to say. "Why don't you come for a meal with me?"

"Like a birthday celebration?" she said teasingly.

"Like a date," he responded, and he was stone-cold serious this time.

Harry seemed to think she had misheard. "Sorry?"

"Date, Harry, you, me, a meal - if you want."

A sudden thought struck Harry. "Is this just another attempt to get into my knickers?" she asked, phrasing it in as crude a way as she could to hide her uncertainty.

Dempsey gazed at her, a frown laying heavy on his eyebrows. "Is it so hard for you to believe that I care about you?" he responded, the pained expression and the quiet, slow tone revealing that she had hurt his feelings.

He watched her for a few more seconds, pain in his gaze. "We been friends a long time, sweetheart. D'you really think so little of me that you'd believe I'd kid around about this? I ain't ruining our friendship for anything." Dempsey stood up abruptly and started clearing away their plates.

He took everything through to the kitchen, dumped the containers in the bin and deposited the plates in the sink. He heard Harry follow him; when he felt her hand take his elbow he stopped, standing motionless in front of the sink.

"I'm sorry, James," she said, and he reflected that she was incredibly good at sincere apologies. "I didn't…think you were serious." Harry took tentative step closer. He kept his eyes downcast, but when she spoke again he could hear that the apology was over and now she was…she was actually considering it. "It is against the rules," she said quietly.

He turned to her with raised eyebrows; her hand fell away. "When has that ever stopped us, eh, Harry?"

He phrased it in such a way that Harry almost wondered why she'd ever seen a problem with it. He made it sound so simple.

Dempsey pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, praying she wouldn't push him away. She didn't - as he pulled away she dropped her eyes shyly, a smile tugging at her mouth. Dempsey lifted her chin and they regarded each other silently. "C'mon, sweetheart, just one date."

Harry caught the corner of her lip in her teeth and nodded.

"Yeah?" he grinned.

Harry laughed. "Yes, alright then!"


	6. DA

When Harry awoke the next morning she was smiling. It took her a moment to remember why; then it hit her. James had asked her on a date. With that heady realisation came a nagging worry that it wasn't allowed - what if Spikings found out? Would he transfer one of them? It seemed likely.

Harry shook herself mentally. _One date,_ she reminded herself. _It's hardly a torrid love affair._ Worry assuaged for the moment, Harry opened her eyes to see Dempsey's living room, and remembered that she had crashed on his sofa the night before, both too lazily comfortable with each other to think of parting just yet.

_I'm wearing his shirt,_ thought Harry, a secret smile spreading over her face. Wrapping the blanket around her, she padded barefoot into the kitchen to put the kettle on. While she waited for it to boil she yawned comfortably. Harry pulled the corners of the blanket over her shoulders and trailed it behind her like a cape as she took the two cups of hot liquid into Dempsey's room. She left Dempsey's coffee on his bedside table, paused a moment to watch him sleeping peacefully, with his hand tucked up underneath his pillow, then went to drink her tea in the living room before her shower.

Dempsey ambled into the room in his dressing gown when she was halfway through her tea and sank onto the sofa next to her.

"Good morning, James."

"Mornin', sexy," he replied, his gaze flicking appreciatively over her body.

"I think we should have gone to bed earlier," Harry said, after a brief yawn.

"That's what I've been tellin' ya."

"Do try to drag your mind out of the gutter for a moment, Dempsey," Harry reprimanded lazily, their casual banter relaxing her.

"It ain't my fault I wake up to a beautiful woman wearin' my shirt," he protested mildly.

"Which is clearly why you haven't stopped smiling since you came in."

Said smile turned sheepish. "Sorry." He drained the last of his coffee and set the empty cup on the floor, then settled back onto the sofa with a contented sigh. "Gotta love a Saturday," he said. "Hey…how 'bout we go for our date today?" he asked after a moment.

Harry smiled. "That sounds lovely. Where shall we go?"

Just at that moment, the phone rang. Harry had a sinking feeling.

"Hold that thought," Dempsey instructed, getting up to answer the phone.

Harry listened to him talking. "Yo, Dempsey here…Mornin' boss…But it's Saturday!…What, really? Jeez…Where?…Alright, we'll be there in an hour." He put the phone down. "Spikings wants us to go check out a murder. Apparently it's related to what happened last night. The police are gonna explain when we get there."

"Looks like our case just came back. I'm having the shower before you."

-:-

They were met at the crime scene by a young male officer who put Dempsey in mind of Fry, and therefore immediately annoyed him. The officer gave them a very thin brown file and took them through the 'crime scene' tape to show them the body of a man in his thirties lying in a pool of his own blood. The source was immediately clear: three large slashes across his throat, presumably from a knife. Next to his body, there was scrawled in large orange letters: "DA".

"No chance it's a coincidence?" Dempsey wondered aloud.

The young officer shook his head and pointed out the flecks of orange paint on the man's side.

"So definitely done after he was killed," Dempsey surmised.

"And it's exactly the same as the graffiti at Aaron's house," Harry added, examining a photo of the graffiti on Aaron's back door from the file. "He was killed in the early hours of this morning, so that's enough time for someone to get here from Aaron's house…His name is Chris Hall, 37, schoolteacher."

Dempsey had been wandering around the body as Harry spoke; he nudged it gently with his foot and received a glare for the offence. He ambled back to Harry and said: "Anything actually interesting in that file?"

In response, Harry held up a photograph.

Dempsey took it and looked closely. "Hey, ain't that -"

"Mr Hall kissing his boyfriend," Harry finished. "Perhaps that's our lead."

"The guy hates gays?"

"Crudely put, but yes, it's possible that that's the motive."

Dempsey swore savagely at the unknown perpetrator, and Harry was surprised by his vehemence.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

He took a deep breath and visibly checked himself, then said evasively: "I'll tell you later. Now, as we're here, how about we go solve this case from a restaurant? We could have a lunch date."

Harry couldn't stop a smile forming on her face. "I'm sure we'll find plenty of clues at that new restaurant that just opened in town."

James pretended to be horrified. "Harriet Makepeace, I'm shocked," he drawled sarcastically. "I think I'm a bad influence on you!"


	7. Time Out

Dempsey was far more nervous than he would have admitted, had anybody asked him. A self-conscious smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as they entered the restaurant, which was, he decided, classy but understated; sophisticated without being too 'la-di-dah'. He put an arm around Harry's waist to guide her, allowing his hand to travel slowly over her hip and back to her waist as they walked to the table to which the waiter showed them.

Pulling out Harry's chair with an exaggerated bow, James grinned up at his best friend with sparkling eyes. A feeling akin to relief washed over him as Harry sat down with pointed primness, before collapsing into giggles over the menu which the waiter gave her. Sparing her a wink, Dempsey turned his attention to the menu, hiding his face behind it.

They chuckled over their menus and sniggered into their drinks, quite unable to keep from making each other laugh. Dempsey felt as though he was on a high from the release, from the falling of the barriers he usually had to build between them to conceal his affection. He didn't have to guard his expression any longer; didn't have to watch his words to make sure they did not betray him. He felt more relaxed than he had done in a long time; maybe since he had first met her.

"See, ain't this fun, Princess? I told ya, we shoulda done this months ago." The mirth dropped briefly from his expression as he added in a low voice, "Years, even."

To his relief, Harry met his gaze and smiled, though she said nothing. The still moment was interrupted by the arrival of their lunch, which they accepted eagerly, and for a few minutes they occupied themselves with the business of eating. Dempsey deemed it acceptable but a little cold; Harry pronounced hers to be rather salty, but good.

"Here, try it."

"I believe you," Harry responded, still tucking into her own lunch and ignoring the spoon waving in front of her face.

"Come on, just a bit," Dempsey insisted, for whom this had now become a game. He moved it towards her until she had no choice but to accept; as he fed her, he deliberately wiped some on her nose. Harry pursed her lips and glared at him; and he cracked up laughing, wondering at the fact that she still somehow managed to retain her dignity, even with food up her nose!

"James, I'm going to kill you for this," she promised sweetly, picking up her serviette.

Dempsey played abashed and kept his eyes fixed sheepishly on his plate as Harry attempted to clean up, then shot him another glare before going back to her lunch.

After a few minutes, James sensed that the movement had stopped; he looked up and caught Harry gazing at him. Her lips were smiling, but her eyebrows were pulled down a little; the overall effect was that she looked bemused, and maybe slightly lost, as though she couldn't quite remember where she was or how she had got there. No sooner had he noticed her expression than it ceased, as Harry looked down again, a protective curtain of hair falling to hide her face.

"You're beautiful," he said simply, and was rewarded by a hint of red entering her cheeks. He had always known it, of course, but this was a different beauty, the beauty of Harry laughing at something he had said, the beauty of the colour in her cheeks as she flushed at his compliments, the beauty of happiness in his presence; this was the beauty that was Harry on a date with him, and everything this fact meant. It meant she was as willing as he was to mould their friendship into something different - into what, he wasn't yet sure.

Harry started up a conversation about something ordinary, as though determined to pretend that he could not affect her in the way he could see that he could, and he followed her lead.

After a few minutes, they lapsed into a comfortable silence, a silence between friends for whom words are not required.

"When I was nine, I made friends with a boy called Thomas," Dempsey said abruptly. "We were mates all the way through school. In high school, someone found out he was gay. He was bullied and beat up so badly and so often that he killed himself about a month after that."

There was understanding in Harry's eyes as she laid her hand over his, and he knew she was thinking back to the time he had so strongly asserted his sexuality while pretending he was homosexual for a case.

James paused. "I never really got over it," he said with a shrug, trying to act like it didn't still affect him as strongly as it did. There was residual guilt mixed up with his sorrow; guilt that he hadn't stood up for his friend.

"It wasn't your fault," Harry said softly, and James was unnerved by how well she knew him.

"I may not have called him names but I sure as hell didn't help him, either," he replied. "I just stood back and let him think it really was a crime to love people."

Harry sat up straighter, and Dempsey saw the look on her face which told him that she had just thought of something very important.


	8. Mean Streak

"What have you just thought of?"

"Aaron Grey…" Harry replied thoughtfully. "I just remembered something about him. He helped to pass the law decriminalising homosexuality. That _must _be it. That must be the lead."

"I guess you're right, Princess."

There was a moment of stillness as they mutually regretted the interruption to their date; each half-considered waiting, but the idea was never really a serious option. They needed to get back to SI10.

"I'll pay," Dempsey said as he stood up and plucked his coat off the back of his chair in one movement.

Harry watched him as she pulled on her coat, then together they hurried out of the restaurant.

-:-

Spikings was not impressed to see that it had taken his team almost two hours to get from the crime scene to the office, a journey of only 20 minutes at the most. However, the looks on their faces were enough to tell him to postpone his chastisement; it was after expressions like that that the bodies tended to start piling up.

"Sir, we think we have the link between Aaron and Hall," Harry announced without preamble as they entered his office.

His eyebrows raised, and Harry realised that they were due for a telling-off, and he was restraining himself only through a great effort of will. "Oh? Do enlighten me," he said in a clipped tone.

"The teacher who's just been killed had a picture of himself kissing his boyfriend in his wallet and Harry says Grey passed some law makin' it not illegal to be gay; we reckon some psycho has a problem with gay people."

The eyebrows did not lower; they were not out of trouble yet. "I presume this has something to do with the fact that you are so late. Though perhaps I should be grateful that you have turned up at all."

Harry judged it best to ignore his disapproval for the time being. "We need someone who can get the word out to be careful. We don't want someone else getting hurt while a killer's at large."

Spikings nodded. "I'll arrange it. Well, while you two have been off _gallivanting_" - this was said in a sterner tone - "the boys in the lab have been hard at work analysing the paint sprayed at Mr Grey's house. Their report contains a large list of words that don't exist and apparently that means it's a kind of spray paint called "Mean Streak", manufactured in America."

Their boss glanced at his watch. "It's too late now, but first thing in the morning I want you to at the school this teacher worked at."

"Sure thing, chief," Dempsey agreed, and rolled his eyes at Harry. _As if we ain't thought of that already,_ the look seemed to say.

-:-:-

_Sorry these chapters are so short, but there's nothing else to say!_


	9. Back To School

_I'm sorry that I keep forgetting to update. I've got a lot on my mind at the moment.

* * *

_

"I just can't believe that anyone here…I mean, we all liked Chris. I can't think that anyone would want to…"

"I'm sure it's hard to take in that someone would want to hurt him," Harry said soothingly to the headmaster. "But we really do need that list of names."

"Of course, of course," the man replied distractedly, pushing back his leather chair and turning to a large filing cabinet, from which he took a brown file. "This is all the "A"s," he explained. "I'm afraid you'll have to refine the list yourselves…I must speak to the governors…" He made a distracted shooing motion at them, so they took the file and sat in the corridor to look through the list.

They were taking the scrawled graffiti as initials, and so, the school being their only lead, they were searching through the school records for children and teachers with the initials "DA". With much foot-tapping and looking around on Dempsey's part, followed by exasperated sighs on Harry's, they worked their way to the end of the list within about five minutes.

"Mr Hall was mentor for two of them," Harry observed when they had finished.

"Seems like a good place to start," Dempsey replied.

-:-

As they entered Mr Hall's classroom, Dempsey and Makepeace were met by a large amount of noise. The reason was clear; the class's regular teacher was not there, so they were taking the opportunity to talk, laugh and enjoy themselves when there was minimal chance of rebuke. A middle-aged man stood leaning against a desk at the front of the class; he seemed to have given up on them.

"Mornin', we just wanna quick chat with two of the kids," Dempsey said. "We're lookin' for, er -"

"If you can dig them out, you can have them," the man interrupted, gesturing at the children in front of him, who had quietened slightly through simple curiosity.

Dempsey addressed the children. "Dennis Alexander, Duncan Adams, you here?"

The eyes of the class turned to focus mainly on two boys, who exchanged nervous glances; one stood up, the other said, "What do you want?"

But as Dempsey had been scanning the class, he had noticed someone he knew. "Hey, Pete," he said, addressing the boy he had seen on the curb numerous times.

Pete gave a curt nod as many questioning eyes turned on him, which he ignored.

"Why is he calling you Pete?" one voice whispered. "Your name's Daniel!"

The boy scowled back at the speaker. "Yeah, Daniel _Pete_rson. What's it to you, anyway?"

"We would just like a quick chat with Dennis and Duncan," Harry spoke over them, returning to what they were supposed to be doing. "Could you come with us?"

The two boys, Dennis short and overweight, his classmate taller and more athletic, followed them out of the room.

"Have you two heard about what happened to Mr Hall?" Dempsey asked when they had walked a short distance down the corridor. Dempsey and Makepeace watched the students' expressions; they seemed nonplussed, and shook their heads. "Where were the two of you three days ago, about 9 o'clock in the evening.

"I was at home," replied Dennis in a small voice, looking intimidated.

-:-

It took them most of the morning to interview all of the "DA"s, with Harry meticulously writing down every response that each person uttered. It was boring work, and tiring; they had no guarantee that the murder had anything to do with the school, but had to be on their guard for the slightest suspicious behaviour all the same. By eleven thirty, they had questioned all eight pupils and the one teacher on their list, and had found nothing. With such a long list of possibilities, it was difficult to keep track of them all, let alone uncover meaningful information.

They were not thirty yards out of the school gates when a loud _BANG_ ripped through the air.

"That was a gunshot," Harry said immediately.

"Yep," Dempsey agreed, wrenching the wheel around and throwing them into a U-turn.


	10. Fight

_AN: yes, I am aware that this is getting worse the longer it grows. I am rushing, I can't help it. I just want to get on with my original story._

-:-:-

Dempsey and Makepeace leapt out of the car the moment it had screeched to a halt, barely pausing to lock it, with no thought of calling in. All they knew was that they had to get inside.

They reached the gate; the school secretary had already locked it behind them, and was nowhere to be seen. Dempsey slammed a shoulder into it; it did not yield, so he drew his gun and shot the lock off. The two of them raced through the gate to the sound of two more gunshots and followed the deadly sound.

They hurried across the schoolyard and silently entered the building which contained a row of classrooms and, at the end of the long, U-shaped corridor, the library. The two crept forwards, keeping to the walls, looking carefully through the glass windows set within the wooden door of each classroom. Some contained terrified students and teachers, hiding away; others were empty, the occupants having decided to run. Harry's heart was racing; what would they find?

Just as they turned the first corner, the air was rent with a burst of gunfire from behind them. Harry whirled around as she heard the door to the building being wrenched open; a pause, and another door was opened. The shots were followed by terrified screams and running feet, and underneath it all a kind of delighted laughter.

Harry and James exchanged a wide-eyed glance as the fading laughter continued towards them. Dempsey jerked his head to indicate an alcove, in which were located 3 doors, for the bathrooms, and dragged Harry by the arm into it; they disappeared just in time. They both waited, breathing rapidly but silently, where they had stopped, listening to the sound of muted footsteps getting closer.

Harry suddenly became aware that Dempsey was directly in front of her, holding her arms back against the wall behind her, and he was gazing into her face with a kind of hunger. He met her eyes and breathed: "Harry if you don't let me kiss you now it might never happen." She dare not speak but he read her answer in the raising of her head, the parting of her lips. Harry wondered, for the second between his question and his kiss, if her pupils were as dilated as his were.

It was nothing like she had imagined, no soft press of the lips after a dinner date; this kiss was longing and need. It was all the things which words were too slow to say; it was _goodbye_ and _thank you_ and _if we never get out of this_; but underneath it all was trust.


	11. Killer

_Sorry this is so short, again._

_-:-_

They broke apart as the footsteps reached their hiding place; there was no moment of reflection as they looked, as one, out of the entrance to see their gunman stroll past, swinging the gun in his hand casually. Dempsey pointed at Harry, and then at the floor. Harry nodded; she was backup.

Dempsey leapt out and aimed his gun in the same movement. "Police! Drop the gun!" he yelled, his voice harsh.

There was surprise in the gunman's face as he turned, replaced quickly with resigned indifference. "You should 'ave gone 'ome."

Dempsey froze.

Before he could even think of responding, the boy, for he was still that, raised his gun and shot Dempsey straight in the shoulder.

James staggered backwards, as the boy turned and sauntered away, unable to raise his gun with his injured arm. For a moment Harry saw, for the second time, her partner and best friend killed by a bullet, until she was shocked back to reality by his body falling against her.

Sick with horror, she laid him as gently as speed allowed her onto the floor and checked his pulse - weak, but steady - and his breathing - shallow. She pressed a hand to his cheek and to her mingled relief and panic he groaned.

"Graffiti don't use initials," he gasped through the pain. "DA - it's that bloody Daniel Peterson. It's Pete." James pushed Harry away weakly. "Get after the bastard, Harry, I'm fine," he insisted, his voice strained. He could hardly believe that the boy he had seen so many times, smoking on the curb, was a killer.

Harry's heart was in her mouth as she saw the blood leaving his body in spurts, but she was a policewoman, and she had a duty. Hating herself, she pressed a kiss to his forehead, and left him.


	12. The Library

_Penultimate part :)_

* * *

Harry rounded the corner just in time to see the door to the library close, the lock turning. She paused; he was hardly going to open the door and cordially invite her in, was he? She reached for her gun unconsciously, and went cold. She didn't have it. Interviewing suspects never ended in gunfights, so she had not thought to bring it. Cursing herself, Harry exited the building through the outside door.

Making for a window at the back, she tiptoed along the wall, ducking under the window at the front of the library. The window was closed, but it yielded when she tugged it.

Makepeace climbed silently through the window; mercifully, the window was between two stacks of shelves, so her entrance went unobserved by all except a small boy crouching in the corner who stared at her with huge eyes. The moment she spotted him, Harry pressed a finger to her lips urgently, and the boy nodded solemnly.

Harry listened carefully. She could hear several of the students crying, but obviously trying to be as quiet as possible, trying not to draw attention to themselves. She could see people crouching behind desks through the gaps between books; the gunman - Daniel? - was standing at the other side of the library, looking round at them all.

"You next," she heard his voice; it was collected and reasonable, and that scared her more than anything else had. He raised his gun and pointed it at one of the boys.

"Stop!" Harry cried, jumping out of her hiding place, thinking of nothing but stopping that gun from firing again. The weapon was immediately turned on her, and Harry caught her breath, holding up her hands. "Put the gun down, Daniel; that is your name, isn't it?"

"How do you know?" the boy asked, lowering the gun slightly. It was a nasty-looking manual pistol, Harry noted. Not large but certainly enough to kill someone if he was close enough.

"My partner, one of the people you shot, told me that's your name. He's called Dempsey. He's outside now, bleeding, because you shot him in the shoulder." She was hoping to stimulate some remorse, but instead he sneered.

"Dempsey? That bloke who used to talk to me and Lee? You think I care about him?"

"Who's Lee?" Harry asked.

"'E's me mate, inne? 'Til 'e went to America. 'Slike 'e said, no one cares about me." This was said without self-pity; more a kind of defiant arrogance.

"Is that why you're doing this?"

Daniel shrugged and casually lowered his gun as though to let himself talk properly. "Lee planned it all, 'e's dead clever, y'know. Everyone knows Mr 'all 'ad a gun, he reckoned we were gonna beat 'im up." Daniel became more earnest. "So Lee said we should get the gun off him only so no one knows it's us you gotta 'urt someone 'o's, like, the same. Lee said that Grey person, and tag it to connect them."

"Tag it?"

"Yeah, the DA, my tag, my mark. Lee sent me the paint, proper good stuff from America, but 'e never talked to me after that, so I said I was gonna do it and without 'im an' all."

"But why? Why did you kill all these people? They're your classmates, Daniel."

"It's just so cool," the boy replied, his eyes lighting up. "It's like, just me, and I decide what 'appens to people. I wanna be famous. And, and when I shoot 'em, all this blood just comes gushing out of 'em, like, like, _whoosh_." Daniel strode forwards and, before Harry could react, pushed her back against a bookcase and held the gun to her temple.

Harry took deep breaths and tried not to panic as Daniel's voice dropped in tone. He was only seventeen but he had the strength of an adult already, and the bulk to go with it.

"I can make people do anything I want 'em to, I can make 'em listen to me."

"I'm listening to you now, Daniel, just give me the gun and I promise everyone will listen."

Daniel stroked the barrel of the gun down Harry's cheek to point up into her throat. "I can make people do _anything_ I want," he said again, and Harry's heart pounded with fear.

-:-:-

_I know nothing about guns. Please forgive my inaccuracies and, no doubt, downright untruths._


	13. The End

_Reprise:_

_Daniel stroked the barrel of the gun down Harry's cheek to point up into her throat. "I can make people do _anything _I want," he said again, and Harry's heart pounded with fear._

-:-:-

Daniel laughed and stepped back from her, waving the gun around triumphantly. "You see? It's just so easy!"

"POLICE - FREEZE!" came a bellowing voice from the back of the library.

Harry whipped around and saw two uniformed police officers as well as most of SI10 emerging from between the shelves with their guns trained steadily on Daniel. Behind them, a few students scurried to safety between the shelves and out through the open window.

Daniel looked wildly between the people lined up in front of him, aimed his gun, and pulled the trigger.

The body fell with barely a sound and the police officers rushed forward to help the boy.

Daniel had shot himself.

-:-

It took Harry nearly twenty minutes to persuade the officer in charge that she was not in shock, she just wanted to see her partner. Eventually, having taken her statement, the officer let Harry go, and Harry drove like a madwoman to the hospital. She ran from her car to the reception.

"Dempsey? James Dempsey?" she gasped.

The woman behind the desk gave a kindly smile. "I'll just look him up for you, dear."

Before the receptionist could give her an answer, Spikings took her by the elbow; she had been so intent on finding James that she had not noticed him approached.

"Come on, girl," Spikings growled under his breath, and hurried her away from the desk. "Our bloody cowboy's in bloody surgery," Spikings explained as Harry stumbled after him down endless corridors. "Having a bullet dug out of his bloody shoulder. Only you two, _only you two,_ could go to a school and come out with a bullet in your body."

Harry concentrated on following her boss, impassively observing that his language and apparent anger covered a more deep-set worry. To keep her own panic at bay she repeated two words like a mantra: _He's alive. He's alive._

Spikings led her into a waiting room and pushed her down onto a chair, proceeding to stalk around the small room and drawing many dark looks from the other three people in the room – a middle-aged woman and a pair of pale-faced twenty-somethings.

Harry leant forwards and hid her face in her hands.

_He's alive. He's alive._

After what seemed like days, a young nurse entered the room. "Mr Spikings? Mr Dempsey is out of surgery and he's perfectly safe. You can come in and see him now, but do remember that he's still under the effects of the anesthetic so he's very groggy and he'll look much worse that he is."

Spikings looked at Harry. "Go on, girl," he urged her.

Harry stood and swayed, uncertain. Spikings again took her by the elbow and led her after the nurse.

And there he was.

He looked…so small, Harry thought, lying among the sea of white blankets and pillows. She went up to the side of the bed and looked down at him.

James opened his eyes a crack, and his lips curled up a fraction. "Toldyuzangel," he slurred.

Harry cupped his cheek and pressed her forehead against his.

Harry stayed with her partner until visiting hours were over. She watched him recover from the anesthetic, gradually becoming more eloquent and beginning to gently play with her fingers.

Eventually, a nurse came to usher her out of the room. "You need to let your husband rest now."

Neither of them corrected her.

"Come back tomorrow or I'll go crazy here, baby."

Harry nodded. "See you tomorrow."

"Bye, Princess. See you tomorrow."

-:-:-:-

_And that's your lot! Here endeth the story. Thank you for your patience and your reviews. I do hope you enjoyed the story._


End file.
